


I'm Having Another Episode (I Just Need A Stronger Dose)

by detuned_radio



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: (for like one chapter), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Based on a Tumblr Post, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Goodbyes, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hiatus, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Memories, Pete Wentz Is Sad, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, This Is Sad, Van Days, Yikes, You will be sad, i think, im not, ive read like 1 kurt vonnegut book lol, ooh lookit me tryna be all smart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 11:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13029981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detuned_radio/pseuds/detuned_radio
Summary: The first time I saw you was in the summer.The first time I told you I loved you was after a show.The first time I kissed you was on top of that shitty little van we drove to every venue in.The last time I kissed you, I think we could both already feel everything falling apart.The last time you told me you loved me, I didn't know how to feel anymore.The last time I saw you was in the winter.





	1. The First Time I Saw You (Good To Go For Something Golden)

**Author's Note:**

> lighthearted for the first couple chapters, enjoy yourself while you can!!

The first time I saw you was in the summer. The summer of 2001 is one that’s been captured by my memory like an insect in amber, every detail frozen and immortalized in time forever.

I was starting to get somewhere in Chicago’s punk rock/pop scene. Mostly playing in basements, cramped and permeated with the smell of sweat. Crowds would gather though, even at the worst of venues, as the air conditioning blared almost as loud as the speakers. I lived for the roar of the crowd, for how all these kids would sing every word back at us with more energy than I think we could manage ourselves. It was a kind of raw passion that just kept my blood pumping. 

I’d finished another show. I held my bass up, a smile practically splitting my face in two. I set my instrument aside and a second later, catapulted myself into the group of people. A sea of hands kept me buoyant, and I laughed like an idiot as I surfed over the crowd. Then, all of a sudden, a pair of hands were on my shoulders, yanking me down, and I actually thought I was going to die for a second before I saw--who else--Joe Trohman.

His lips moved, but all the blood was rushing to my head from the angle I was at and the crowd was still cheering so loud and I had been right next to the speaker for about the entire show so I didn’t pick up most of what he said. Something about a drummer. I just went “huh,” as if I’d heard it all.

Joe practically dragged me out from the room so we could talk. “He’s great, man. I set up a meeting with him for tomorrow, so I’ll pick you up at noon?”

I had no idea who “he” was. I blinked at Joe, my ears still ringing. “...What?”

Joe sighed, rolling his eyes and going over everything again. “I met this kid in a Border’s the other day. He was looking at the cds and he’s got good taste in music. Real, like, indie and stuff. We started talking and apparently he plays a whole bunch of instruments. He wants to audition to be the drummer in this band thing we’re doing. Seriously, he’s what we’re looking for.”

Joe seemed so genuinely excited, I was kind of able to set aside the fact that noon was pretty early for me. “Sure,” I agreed, blinking my way out of the daze. “Noon tomorrow, then.”

“Hell yes,” Joe pumped his fist in the air. “You will not regret this.”

-

I regretted this. Joe was twenty minutes late and I was sitting on the curb waiting for him. I leapt up as soon as I spotted his car careening around a corner, swinging open the door and climbing in next to him. “Sorry,” he apologized. “Traffic’s, like, crazy, you know.”

I looked over at him skeptically. “Are you sure it was the traffic and not the fact that you only woke up ten minutes ago?”

I took the aggravated stare he shot me as a yes.

We got to your house, surprisingly, not too late. From the door, we could hear the sound of you banging away on your drums. You could certainly hold a rhythm. Joe rang the doorbell and I stood behind him, ready for him to make all the introductions, since I’ve never been the best at meeting people. It was a few minutes before the door swung open, and there you were.

You were tinier than I expected. I was only taller than you by one or two inches, but still, I’m not all that tall, and finding other guys shorter than me is a kind of rare occurrence. One detail I’ve always remembered extremely clearly, for some reason, is what you were wearing. There you were in shorts, black socks, and an argyle sweater. Suddenly, I believed Joe, about how you were exactly who we were looking for. I think my first impression of you was something along the lines of “this dude is awesome.”

“You’re Pete Wentz?” You looked at me and I couldn’t tell if you were starstruck or disappointed.

I nodded. “Yeah, I, uh… I guess that’s me,” I chuckled awkwardly.

“Wow, I’ve heard a lot about you. There’s, you know, a lot of stories about you. You’re kind of a legend, at least to a lot of people I play in bands with.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and so I was thankful when you invited us in. You were fidgeting with your drumsticks nervously. “I guess…” you made your way over to your drumset, “do you want to hear…?”

Both Joe and I nodded eagerly, sitting down on the couch with our eyes fixed to you. You sat down, drawing in a breath before starting to tap out a simple rhythm. Slowly, it gained more complexity, and before long you had this amazing thing going. You were like, fucking Neil Peart or something. You absolutely attacked the drums. You were a storm. I found myself grinning and tapping my foot along to the beat. 

With a last crash on the cymbal, you sat up straight, breathing hard. “So, um…”

I looked over at Joe. Joe looked over at me. He was giving me a kind of “I told you so” look. I turned back to you. “I think…” I chuckled, “you’re in.”

Your face lit up then. I think that’s the moment I decided that I really love that smile. “Really?” You sounded disbelieving. Giddy. 

“Why don’t you show us what you can do on the guitar?” Joe suggested. 

“Oh. Sure,” you quickly snagged a guitar off the wall, picking at the strings to see if it was in tune. You looked up at us. “Anything you’d like me to play in particular…?” 

I had just started to shake my head when Joe requested, “give us your Bowie cover.”

You shrugged and your fingers found their positions on the strings, and a second later you brought the guitar to life. I recognized it within the first few chords as Life on Mars, and hardly had time to commend your choice when the most amazing thing happened.

You opened your mouth and you sang. I think my heart stopped for a moment. Your voice was clear and powerful, on-key and probably the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. It may be overdramatic but I swear that’s what you hear entering the gates of heaven. I was blown away. My jaw actually dropped.

I think I stressed you out a little with my reaction because you stopped about halfway through the song and let out a little laugh. “I’m not really--I don’t know, I think I should stick to drums,” you said, and it was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard.

“You have to be our singer,” I blurted. 

You seemed taken aback. “What? No, man, I can’t--I mean, I can carry a tune, but I really don’t think I’m cut out to be a lead singer or anyth-”

“Are you kidding? That was amazing,” I insisted, disbelieving that you had no idea how incredible your voice was.

Joe took my side. “You are pretty good, man. Better than me or Pete. At least consider it?”

You seemed to open your mouth to argue, but decided against it, shrugging and nodding.

We stayed for a bit longer. Let you start us off with a few simple rhythms on your drums, and then Joe would join in on the guitar. You two worked well with each other. Suddenly, it felt like the band might be coming together.

When we were leaving, you stood in the doorway, politely seeing us out. “Thank you so much for coming,” you beamed at us.

“Thank you so much for having us,” Joe called, already halfway to the car. I nodded at you.

“I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah,” you smiled again. You really were exactly what we needed. Exactly what _I_ needed. “See you.”


	2. The First Time I Told You I Loved You (At The End Of The Day, You Know Where We Came From And Where We Call Home)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Peterick Hug™

The first time I told you I loved you was after a show.

Take This To Your Grave had been released a few months prior. It did so much better than we ever could could have anticipated. It was all because of you. I was absolutely right, you were our golden ticket. With you, we could take on the world. 

We’d just finished an amazing show. You were breathtaking, as always. I could tell how nervous you had been before the show. This was probably the biggest one to date, and they’d only keep getting bigger. But you’d put your anxiety aside and delivered a performance that blew me, and the entire crowd, I can guarantee it, away. 

It was like no other show I’d ever played before. I knew the feeling of everyone singing along to the songs I play, but this time, all these kids were singing _my_ words. All of these kids were dancing and jumping to _your_ compositions. I think it occurred to me onstage in full clarity that night how amazingly we work together, how I’ve never had a creative relationship like I did with you. Soulmates, I was convinced.

Once we made it backstage afterwards, the band exchanged congratulatory high-fives and pats on the back. Our eyes met and I could see the expression on your face. You looked dazed and disbelieving, and I could tell what we were both thinking. _This is really happening._

You strode forward and threw your arms around me, pulling me into one of your Stump-hugs. No one gives hugs like you, and I was more than enthusiastic to return it, my hands balling into fists to grip the fabric of your shirt and my face nuzzling against your neck. It was way too hot to be this close to another human being, and we both smelled like sweat, but we stood there for a long time, holding on tight, adrenaline still hanging heavy in the air, each melting into the other’s arms. 

We broke away from each other after a few more moments, staring at each other for a moment with those same dreamy expressions until a grin a mile wide split across your face and it was impossible not to smile back, and before long we were both breathless with delirious laughter because _we did it, we really did it._

“Patrick, oh my god,” I wheezed, “you were amazing. I mean, we’ve played good shows before, but I think this tops everything we’ve done.”

I think I managed to get you to blush a little bit, like always did at any sort of praise. I expected you to wave off the compliment, or turn it back around so that you could load compliments on top of me, and I was ready to put up a valiant fight to convince you of how amazing you were, but I guess you were too dazed. I can’t blame you, I think everything seemed pretty dream-like after that show for all of us. “Yeah. That was,” you let out a soft chuckle, “that was--wow.”

It wasn’t very articulated, but I knew exactly what you meant. I don’t think words could do it justice. “Wow” was about as close as we’d get. 

I was so amazed. Proud, I guess would be the proper word. In two years you’d gone from this kid answering the door in black socks and an argyle sweater who thought he’d be playing the drums for this weird summer project this guy at a bookstore had told him about to the lead singer of an actual rock band. 

I stared at you for a good minute, maybe more, maybe less, time felt awfully non-linear at that point, my hands on your shoulders, just admiring you, committing your face to memory, even though I’d done so a million times before, but making sure I really appreciated every detail about you. You kind of went with it since it seemed like you were slipping in and out of reality anyway. “Thank you,” was all I said to break the silence.

You cocked your head at me, confused. “For what?”

“For--I don’t know. Joining the band. Being a part of this. Singing my words, coming up with melodies. We wouldn’t have made it half this far without you.”

You were blushing up a storm now, although I didn’t see it I knew for sure because you were hiding your face in my shoulder in an attempt to hide it. 

That’s when it hit me like a wave. It came over me in an instant, a strong bout of emotion that just snuck up on me and seized me by the heart. Fucking hell, I love you. It had taken me awhile to pin the emotion, I knew you were my best friend, I knew I was proud of you and grateful for you and amazed by you every single day, but suddenly there was the term that encompassed it all. I impulsively told you as soon as it hit me. 

“Oh my god, Patrick,” I breathed, gathering you up in my arms and actually managing to lift you a couple inches off the ground, to which you responded with an adorable little squeaking sound in surprise. “I love you so much.”

You started laughing, a light and jovial sound that made me smile even wider. Eventually, not until after I’d spun you around a couple times, I set you down, and you beamed up at me with the most sincere smile I’d ever seen. “I love you too,” you said, and I could tell you meant it. 

And then the giggles came back, and you knocked your forehead against my chest, and I laughed and tousled your hair, which was already a complete mess from the show. That's what I consider the night that it was set in stone that yes, Fall Out Boy was going somewhere, and yes, we were going to be seeing a lot more of each other. I think we also established that night that we were both fine with this. Ready to take it on, as long as we could do so together.

After that, I made it a point to remind you almost daily. Letting you know, sometimes not even verbally, that I loved you more than you could imagine. That you were my best friend. That it was crazy how much you meant to me, that I knew you’d never leave my side no matter what I was going through. That I was insanely thankful for a friend like you.


	3. The First Time I Kissed You (The World's Not Waiting For Two Tired Boys On Top Of A Broken Down Van)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that long-ass chapter title lol  
> Then again, what else would you expect from a fall out boy fanfic

The first time I kissed you was on top of that shitty little van we drove to every venue in. Just like I’d said they would, bigger and bigger crowds were gathering at every show. You just kept getting better and better every night. We were on the uprise. I was convinced that we were going to take the world by storm. 

We’d finally traversed the endless expanse of farmland that makes up such a ridiculous portion of the United States a couple nights prior. As soon as we hit Seattle, we gave ourselves a break, got a hotel. I may or may not have drank way too much that night in celebration of making it back to civilization after our gig there. You and Joe were only eighteen at the time but I snuck you a couple cans of beer, because I’m irresponsible like that. I was forever in your debt for how you helped me through the hangover the next morning. God, I’m so glad Andy doesn’t drink, that way we had a designated driver. 

We were headed down to California and had stopped for the night somewhere around southern Washington or northern Oregon. It was a warm and clear night, the crickets were screaming at me, as was my own mind. I couldn’t take being cramped up in the little van any longer so I exited as quietly as I could, hopping up onto the roof of the van, admittedly, a little less quietly. Joe and Andy are heavy sleepers. You aren’t. 

"Pete?” I heard in your soft voice a few minutes later. I glanced down at you, giving you a small smile. 

“Hey, Rickster.”

I knew you were annoyed by nicknames, but ‘Rickster’ was one you minded less. That, or you were just too sleepy to protest. I helped you up on top of the van next to me. You weren’t wearing your hat and your hair was a mess, and the way the moonlight shone off it made you look like you had a halo. A very messy halo. I couldn’t help but smile a little bit at how cute you looked. 

"What are you doing awake?” you asked me quietly.

I shrugged and inched closer to you. “You know. Insomnia.”

You picked up on my subtle advances and pressed yourself close to me, your warmth seeping right into my bloodstream. “Anything you wanna talk about?”

It was a conversation we had a lot. You’d learned what to say to make the calamity in my head soothe itself enough for me to fall asleep, learned how to calm me down with your gentle touches and warm hugs. I melted into your touch and shook my head before leaning it on your shoulder, and you understood. I don’t know how long we stayed like that.

For the first time in nights, I started to relax enough for my eyelids to lose the strength to stay open and to just listen to the sound of your breaths while everything else melted away. It was almost perfect, but I missed your voice, wanted to be lulled to sleep to you humming some melody.

“Hey, Rick?” I muttered, and was met with the smallest of sounds of acknowledgement. “Can you sing to me?”

You seemed almost surprised by the request, I could hear your heartbeat quicken. “What do you want me to sing?” you asked.

“Just anything,” I shrugged. “Love your voice.”

You went silent for a few moments and I thought you were just going to ignore my request until you started singing. Softly, almost under your breath. I didn’t know what song it was, nor did I care. Your voice was lovely, and suddenly, I couldn’t bear to fall asleep to miss it. 

My eyes opened and I sat there, letting the sweet sound wash over me and just basking in it and clinging onto every note in hopes I’d commit them to memory. When the tune finally tapered off, it felt like sand slipping out from between my fingers, no matter what I did to try to catch it, your voice eventually fell away from me. I looked up at you from where my head was perched on your shoulder. “That was beautiful.”

You laughed, almost scoffed at that, turning away to hide the blush I knew was forming. “Yeah, sure. Kind of more of a warm-up then anything.” 

I wouldn’t let you get away without a compliment that easy. “Really,” I insisted, placing my palm gently on your cheek and turning your face towards my own. “I love your voice.”

You squeaked out a little “thank you” which had to be the most adorable thing I’d heard in my life. At that point, I couldn’t help myself. Everything in my mind was just clouded with you. My best friend, my confidant, my other half, my everything. I leaned forward and kissed you. Nothing big or dramatic, just a tiny peck on the lips. I’d been tempted by those lips forever. All soft, plush, and warm, they felt just how I’d imagined they would. Like home. 

We gave each other plenty of light kisses on the cheek, forehead, hands, things like that in silent moments between us. But neither of us had gone in for the lips before.

The moment our lips touched, the sound in my mind fizzled out. Like a radio blaring nothing but static being turned off, like the sudden shift from being completely immersed in the song stuck in your head to where it's background noise and your own breathing, your own pulse is more real. Like being completely weightless for so long and finally stepping back to the earth, feeling the solid ground under your feet. I'd kissed plenty of people, but this felt like the first. Like a nervous heart and quickened breaths and a huge, stupid smile. 

There wasn't much time to savor it, because it was so quick. It was more the ephemeral feeling that came with it, the brief shift of reality that left me feeling homesick and nostalgic for that other dimension as soon as it faded.

You were… well, maybe shocked isn’t the right word. You were surprised, at least a little. From the looks of it, pleasantly. Incredulous but hopeful. Oh, and blushing up a storm.

“R-really?” you asked quietly, and I guess I didn’t figure out immediately what it meant.

“Sorry,” my gaze dropped. “I guess that was a little unprecedented.”

You relaxed then, if you were ever even tense in the first place, curling yourself against me. “No,” you assured softly. “I liked it. It was nice.”

And then there was comfortable silence until we both got too tired and returned to the inside of the van. I remember sleeping well that night. It’s one of my favorite memories. I wouldn’t consider it to be the exact moment we went from friends to something else, because I don’t think there is a concrete moment at which that distinction was made. With you and me, it was never a big dramatic fall, tension one moment and plummeting into the abyss of love the next, although we did get there at some point, but it was never at that breakneck pace. With us, it was a soft descent. We drifted down, down, deeper and deeper, until the light couldn’t reach us anymore and we didn’t even notice because it had happened so slowly and gradually.

Back then, I’d never have anticipated that I’d be wishing I could claw my way back up again.


	4. The Last Time I Kissed You (I've Been Here Before A Few Times, And I'm Quite Aware We're Dying)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey wait that's not a fall out boy lyric

The last time I kissed you, I think we could both already feel everything falling apart.

We argued all the time those days, first it was about the music, but it spread from there, started infecting every other aspect of our lives until we couldn’t agree on a thing.

I blame myself, mostly. After we put out Folie and it was met the way it was, I wasn’t there for you the way I should have been. You put everything into that album. You’d given your all on the other records, of course, but on this one, it went even further. You opened up with that album, poured your heart and soul into it. And I did too. That record was about us. It was our shared madness. Our folie a deux. 

When we were booed offstage the very first time, I passed it off as a fluke. It must have been. I thought we were doing better than ever, so I didn’t really pay it all that much mind. Maybe they were in a bad mood that night. I don’t know.

You took it a lot harder. You opened up on that stage, the person who sang up there was so genuinely you. As the frontman, I’d built a shell around myself that the criticism could just kind of roll off of. You never did, which I suppose is why you never wanted to be the face of the band. When they booed our songs that night, and many nights to follow, they were booing you. I should have seen that back then, and I’m so sorry I didn’t.

We entered a turbulent time in both the band’s relationship and ours. You were torn and ripped apart, and I’d forced myself to be too cold, numb and closed off to care. Gradually, it became clearer and clearer that we didn’t fit like we had before. Our artistic relationship, which was always something I had been amazed by, was at a complete standstill. Conversation was awkward and stilted between us, leaving me overthinking every piece of small talk that I spoke to you, so desperate to stay balanced on the thin line I walked with you, so desperate to please that I wasn't even myself. Like we were strangers. 

We both started realizing that we were impermanent. Whatever we had between us, it wasn’t going to last, no matter how hard we tried to grip and cling onto whatever we could, we were slipping. Sand between fingers. Your voice slowly getting quieter and then stopping entirely. A mutual ascent from the abyss that we’d once made our home, back up into lonely, harsh, cold and blinding light.

We still seized whatever chances we could, feeling that if we were eventually going to break, it shouldn’t be dull or quiet. We both knew when we fell into bed together that night, hands and lips roaming over every inch of exposed skin we could find, that it would be the last time we did.

It was like I was doing it with a stranger. More than anything, it felt like a one night stand, something just for fun that I wouldn’t have to think about after. I always hated to think about it after. I remember one girl I snagged a hotel room with once. When we were both curled in bed next to each other somewhere between the latest hours of the night and the most unholy hours of the morning, she rested her head on my chest, drew little designs onto my skin with her finger, and asked if I’d remember her.

“Of course,” I said immediately. It wasn’t true. She could tell.

“No you won’t,” she whispered. “That’s what you say to everyone, I bet.”

I was taken aback, but not giving in. “Maybe so,” I chuckled, “but this time I mean it.”

She still didn’t seem entirely convinced. “Will you write a song about me?”

Oh, if she could only comprehend what she was asking. I just laughed, and promised, “I could write a whole album about you. You listen to me, darlin’, the next record, it’s going to be all about you.” She smiled, seeming satisfied with that and drifting to sleep soon after.

I wasn’t lying. I wrote song after song about her, and there were some of the most bitter and loveless words I’d ever set to tune. I didn’t even have much of a reason to be mad at her, but she became the person I took out all my frustrations on. Really, those sharp words were directed at a whole multitude of things, but they wore a mask with her face on it. Her stupidly beautiful and face. I forgot her name years ago, but the face is something I remember. 

Maybe the reason I found myself becoming so angry at her was that she wasn’t you, which I know is ridiculous, but she hadn’t been with me through everything you had, she’d clamoured for my affection for one night, just so, maybe, she could hear her name in a song one day. And it was stupid, because there are plenty of people who aren’t you that I’m not so irrationally angry at, but that night was the one that one-night stands lost their fun for me, I guess.

I never wanted that to become us, but here I was, in bed with a face I couldn’t place a name to anymore.

The kisses we shared were rushed, hungry, all teeth and stiff tongues and cold lips. Our breaths were gasping and painful and desperate, teasing us with the promise of life until our lips collided again like a couple of semi-trucks crashing into each other head on and nearly drowned me to death. Your kisses didn’t feel like home anymore.

A little while later and we were both tired and sated, curled against each other so close I couldn’t tell where one of us ended and the other began, clinging to each other for dear life. Nothing we could express verbally held any love anymore. Most interactions were void and empty. This was all we had left.

Just before I drifted to sleep, you leaned up and kissed me one more time. And this time, it wasn’t all teeth and cold lips. It wasn’t desperate and rushed. I don’t know how it changed so quickly, but suddenly, your lips were soft and warm. You felt like home.

It was far too brief. In hardly a heartbeat, you were gone. I wasn’t home anymore. I don’t know where I was.  
My best guess for why you kissed me that night was that you knew it would be the last time. I’m glad you wanted to feel that warmth again one more time. I did too.

We officially “broke up” the next morning, and announced Fall Out Boy’s hiatus a couple weeks later.


	5. The Last Time You Told Me You Loved Me (I Don't Do Too Well On My Own)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think it's kinda obvious by now that 7 minutes in heaven is one of my favorite fob songs heh

The last time you told me you loved me, I didn’t know how to feel anymore.

I’d lost the band, I’d lost you, I’d lost everything. Everything just seemed hopeless, I couldn’t find any kind of direction. It was all dark, and I didn’t know where to find any kind of light. I didn't even know if there was any kind of light. I was in the deep heart of winter now, indefinite grey skies and frigid cold.

My flat was trashed. Like, if you saw it, you'd have thought I'd started a rager and invited a hundred or so rowdy kids to get drunk and scatter litter everywhere. I was buried in it. Empty plastic cups, pizza boxes, pill bottles, you name it. I hardly had the motivation to wake up, let alone clean the place.

I was laying on my couch. I can't tell you how long I'd been there, but there wasn't much of a reason to leave. I was legitimately ready to die right there. I thought about that a lot, actually, how I might die here on my couch from neglecting to feed myself and they'd find me and it'd be on the front page of one of those gossip magazines. “Fall Out Boy Frontman Pete Wentz Found Dead In Trashed Apartment,” it’d read. Might get a chuckle out of someone waiting in line to get their groceries scanned.

I had my headphones on. I don't think I'd taken them off for more than a minute once over the past few weeks, but I needed to hear your voice.

You'd released your solo album barely a month prior. I bought it, listened to it, loved it, and then listened to it again and again and pretended the songs were about me. Most of all, I was happy you were doing better than I was. 

I'd never fallen this far before. I'd crashed, oh, I'd crashed and burned before, but I'd dealt with it differently.

Back then, when I'd feel myself breaking apart, I'd fling myself into the public eye, go to clubs and drown my thoughts in bright lights and loud music, squeeze myself into crowds of people and hope all of them crowding me in from all directions would keep my pieces together. Part of me hoped the flashing lights would make me seize out and die, while the other part of me knew within the crowd someone would save me before I could. Win-win.

I'd jump from city to city, looking for brighter lights, taller buildings, more and more and more people. Somewhere, I thought, in the crowds I encountered, I'd find my savior. Someone who would make me stop feeling this way. I'd drag someone new home almost every night, no exceptions, I'd let anyone in, hoping that maybe, just maybe they could me the one, knowing they weren't. 

And it worked, because in the end, hiding in plain sight, you found me, and you dragged me back up again, held me and made me feel like I mattered, made it all okay for a while until I crashed again. Over and over again, so it goes.

This time I wasn't drowning myself in crowds and I wasn't looking for anyone to save me, because I think this time, I didn't want to be saved. Where I'd once searched out bright lights, I wanted nothing but darkness. Loud pounding music was replaced by your voice filtering into my perception softly at any given moment in the day. Seas of people, I replaced with solitude. Closing myself off likely wasn't a good idea. I've never done well on my own, I've always been more vulnerable that way. With no one to pull me out of my thoughts every now and then, I spiraled down and down and down into them, letting them consume me. This time, instead of being drowned by overwhelming outside noise, I was drowning from the inside, like each of my veins were popping one by one.

The outside world hadn't heard a word from me for a long time. I used to be quite active on social media, but at the time my need for solitude had me practically evading my phone, which was overflowing with texts from you, the guys, my family, people beginning to worry about my wellbeing.

When the phone call came through, I was laying on the couch, listening to Soul Punk for about the millionth time. It was playing softly, so I could hear the phone ringing, which peaked my interest just enough for me to slide the headphones off my ears so I could hear but not quite enough to get up.

And then I heard your voice, and although it'd been the only thing I'd been hearing for the past few weeks, it hit me like a ton of bricks, weighed me down so much there was no way I could get up and answer the phone and interfere, so much that all I could do was lay there and listen, shocked you'd even found the time of day to speak to me.

“Hey,” your voice was raw and soft and almost a little panicky, and for my own selfish reasons, I found myself indulging in the idea that you may have just been crying over me. “It's just been a really long time since I've heard from you. You haven't posted or responded to my texts for a really long time. I just wanted to check that you were okay. I'm worried. Please, if you hear this, give me a call. Or a text, or anything. I just want to know you're okay.”

I already knew I wasn't going to respond to you. On the surface, I simply didn't have the motivation to. Nothing really seemed to have any point anymore. Accompanying that, a layer lower, was my mind’s attempt to convince myself I was actually a good person, doing this for you. Talking to you seemed like the worst thing I could do to you. You were doing so well on your own, and I didn't want you to worry over me. I guess, at my core, the reason I'd had to come up with all these other excuses to protect, I was just scared to see you again. I didn't want it to go wrong, like I was convinced it would. I couldn't see you. I didn't have the energy, I wasn't good enough for you, I was scared.

At this point, I'd started trembling painfully, borderline convulsing as tears forced themselves from my eyes. It wasn't crying so much as it was bloodletting. I just wanted to wash out whatever was dragging me down to places so dark and cold inside myself, it didn't belong, I just wanted it _out._ I was spiraling down and down and all my surroundings seemed too familiar and I needed to get out but I couldn't go anywhere, and there was absolutely no escape to this feeling until you added on something very quietly at the end.

“I love you,” you said softly, so softly I was sure at first it was some kind of auditory hallucination, but you continued. “I really do. I care about you so much, Pete. Please. Text me, call me, whatever.”

By that point I was frozen. The tears had stopped, the shaking had stopped, my head felt like static from my heavy breathing and I could literally feel my teeth vibrating, but the room had stopped spinning and you'd freed me from the awful trapped feeling. Suddenly I felt maybe not like I could do anything, but at least that I had to do something. 

I heard you sniffle, making me think that maybe you really had been crying. “Later,” you concluded, more of a promise than a goodbye, and hung up. 

I stumbled to my feet, and you were the only thing clouding my mind, the only thing giving me enough reason to make it to my phone, my vision cloudy and hazy with tunnel vision, only for you. I texted you, like you'd asked. Just to see you again, one more time.


	6. The Last Time I Saw You (Sleeping Pills And Late Night Films Are Keeping Me Tonight)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is sad you silly goose go read something happy it's christmas

The last time I saw you was in the winter.

After that phone call, we'd talked, arranged a place and time to meet, seeing as we hadn’t seen each other in person for a while. I'd actually managed to get myself somewhat cleaned up, at least enough to go out into public. Out of the tank top and shorts that smelled like sweat and coffee stains that I'd been wearing for god only knows how long, finally. I'd taken the time even to clean up my living area, which involved hauling out trash bags the size of my own body.

I ended up in front of the mirror, looking at myself. It didn't even look like me. I looked like a skeleton with a thin layer of skin draped over it, lifeless eyes and a broken head. And yet, it was better than I’d been doing in a while, in a way. I was a dead man walking and I was moderately okay with it. And I looked like I'd pulled myself together at least a little, dressed in the nicest thing I could pull from the deep recesses of my closet. We were meeting at a little coffee place downtown. You wanted somewhere quiet and calm where we could talk, out in public so that we wouldn't start throwing punches at each other. I hoped it wouldn't escalate to the point of fighting.

I stepped outside and was met with a cold gust of wind hitting my face and a crunch under my feet, blaring white all around. The city was buried in probably a solid ten inches of snow, soft and silent and bright. I stared at it for a moment like I'd never seen it before. It took a moment for me to work up the gall to actually start walking, hardly wanting to tread in the perfect untouched blanket of ice.

I made it to the cafe, not terribly late. You were already there and greeted me with a little smile. We sat down, ordered coffee, and I got to relax.

You asked if I was okay, I said I was getting better, and then we spoke for a while. At least, this time, it didn't feel like I was talking to a stranger, it felt more like talking to an ex, which, I suppose, technically, it was. The words you said to me weren't really from you, but I wasn't paying attention to what you were saying, it was mostly bland small talk anyway. I was just watching you, glad to see Patrick, my Patrick, his lips, his eyes, his tiny smiles.

You were thinner than the last time I saw you. So was I, I guess, but the difference was that you were healthy. You were doing so well. I managed to relax more and more, knowing you'd do just fine without me, and you already were.

It started getting late. You walked me outside. By that point, I was starting to feel a lot like Billy Pilgrim. I was unstuck in time, I'd seen this goodbye over and over. It had always been the last time I'd see you and it always would be, there was no point in trying to change it, the moment was just structured this way.

“It was good seeing you again,” you said, your hands stuffed in your pockets in an adorably awkward stance.

“Yep,” I said.

“Good to hear you're okay.”

“Yep.”

“You take care.”

“Yep.” I couldn't really tell why you were drawing this out.

“I just…” you paused then, letting out a huff of air that turned into a little cloud in front of your face. Then you walked towards me and threw your arms around me. I hesitated a moment before hugging back, closing my eyes and burying myself away from the cold air in your warmth. I was close and safe and where I belonged, one last time. It was dead silent.

I love you. I've needed people before, but not like this. There are people I couldn't live without, every part of me may not unanimously love them, god knows there are little things I hate them for, but I, undeniably, need them like I need oxygen. But you. There's not a cell in my body that hates you, I swear. I need you and I love you with every fiber of my being. I've never loved anyone so completely as I love you. It's amazing.

Against me, I could feel your chest heave slightly, and begin to shake, and I took me a moment to realize you were crying. I pulled back to look at you, and sure enough, tiny droplets fell from your eyes. You locked your gaze with mine and forced a small smile, those blue eyes shining with flecks of gold and blonde eyelashes laced with little snowflakes. 

“Sorry,” you whispered. “I guess I just missed you.” You gave my arm a gentle squeeze before pulling away from me completely. “I'll see you around?”

“Yeah,” I breathed, watching my speech condense in the cold air and briefly cloud my vision. “See you.”

And just like that, you left. No kiss goodbye, no dramatic declaration of unbound love, the moment was short, and now it was over, the way it was always structured. So it goes.

I headed back home, ready for things to go silent for a little while.

And now they’re down, and it's just a short wait. The empty pill bottle is laying on the windowsill next to me. I’m watching the flurry of snowflakes drift to the ground under the warm golden glow of the street lamps that bathes the whole stretch of road. Occasionally there's the odd creak of the house settling, there’s the smell of the old wooden floorboards, I can feel every grain of dust that lays on the windowsill below my fingers. Even the smallest particle is completely still and silent. I've always died like this and I always will.

Vaguely, I hear the sound of my phone ringing, but it's muffled and quieter than the silence around me, and I can feel my eyes dropping shut. Nothing to worry about anymore. No more noise, no more light, I let my mind fall empty.


	7. The First Time You Saved Me (Whatsername)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of this chapter is based off pete's book (which if you havent read you should it made me cry like 8 times)

The first time you saved me, I felt so terrible for making you do so.

We'd just hit it big and made it to LA. Suddenly we were surrounded by these colorful city lights and huge parties that somehow felt like high school ragers and sophisticated events all at once. All of this attention was coming our way at once. It was crazy, to go from a few weird punk rock kids from just the outskirts of Chicago to being treated like big-shots in the City of Angels. 

Yeah, I can guarantee, from the shit I saw, you were the only angel in the whole goddamn city.

We went to one party once. Well, Joe and I went to this party. You and Andy went off and did something else, but Joe kind of followed me around like a stray dog those days, my own personal disaster right at my side. Kind of kept me stable for a while though.

The party was disappointing. Yeah, it was loud, and crowded, and they had a hell of a lot of drinks, but I just didn't feel anything, much less get swept away like should happen with events like that. Every time I'd try to let myself lose control and consciousness and just let the night take me wherever it would, I'd remain painfully awake, critical and unimpressed by everything this grand city was throwing at me so far.

I didn't even feel like drinking that night, for a few reasons. Most basically, I didn't want to have to deal with a hangover the next morning. But in addition to that, my mind was bubbling over with ideas. And sure, they were dark, and sure, they kind of hurt, but that’s where my inspiration mainly stemmed from them, and although I wasn't itching to get them on paper anytime soon, I didn't want to just wash them away with alcohol. I guess I wasn't in the mood to lose myself that night, which is rarely how you should feel entering a party. Fuck, looking back, I couldn't even tell you why I went at all.

I mostly stuck close to the corner of the room in a tiny sliver of space that the lights just barely reached. Guess I came off as a real wallflower. Someone there was into that, apparently.

A girl came over, slumped on the wall beside me. “This sucks,” she’d proclaimed.

I shrugged.

My disinterest didn't seem to deter her in the least. She turned to me, hand outstretched. “I’m--” and then she gave me a name. I could never remember it. The face, I've remembered, slapped into countless songs. But her name went over my head. I've called her Whatsername for years. Yes, I’ve always been a Green Day nerd. Moving on.

I shook her hand, muttered “Pete,” hoped it'd end there.

It didn't.

She was determined. I couldn't really figure out why, I didn't think I was much to look at, especially not compared to some of the other people there. But the flirting persisted, until eventually, she'd managed to drag me out of the party and back to her hotel room.

You and I hadn't gotten together yet. Nothing had really suggested we'd become anything more than friends, and honestly, I was starting to feel a little hopeless that I'd ever get to you. And so I played along with Whatsername for a while. She was a replacement, a distraction. If Los Angeles were a person, it'd be her. She was bright, flashy, caught my eye, perfectly drowned out every thought in my head behind the bright lights and loud traffic, her face, her voice.

It was only late into the night, when we were both still hardly awake that I finally realized why she'd come onto me in the first place. Softly, out of the quiet and out of the dark, she posed the question, “will you remember me?”

“Of course.”

“No, you won't. That's what you say to everyone, I bet.” Her voice came back in hardly a whisper.

“Maybe so. But this time I mean it.” I didn't. I mostly just wanted her to fall asleep. I told her I'd write an album about her. I kept up this stupid romantic character I'd been pushing since I'd decided to play along, and while my lips took over and spilled whatever romantic bullshit they would, my mind was falling to pieces. Of course, she just wanted me to get her own fifteen minutes of fame. To come to me, a small but rising star, easy bait, low-hanging fruit, try to get her name in a song. I honestly wasn't mad at her for that, though, I'd done much more selfish things.

The reason I ended up hating Whatsername was because she reminded me I'd never get to you, and even if I did, I'd never deserve you. Reminded me the only thing worthy about me was that I was moderately famous. But so were you, so I had nothing to offer that you didn't have already. 

The city had broken me down enough already, and this was the last straw that pushed me into absolute hopelessness. The spark inside me was dead, extinguished.

As soon as she fell asleep, I slipped away as quietly as I could. She didn't wake, thankfully, and I made my way back to our hotel.

We shared a hotel room, and I was relieved to find that you were asleep. I slipped into the bathroom, pulling the pill bottle from my bag and emptying the prescribed number of capsules into my hand.

My head was still buzzing, everything was a storm of contradictions. I hated Whatsername, there was really no reason to. I loved you, I couldn't risk telling you just how much. I was probably a horrible person, I should probably get away from you, I couldn't. I have to keep living with myself.

I couldn't.

I added a few more pills to my hand.

I'm not sure how you knew, but suddenly the door was crashing open and you were standing there with a fearful expression on your face. I don't know how how long it had been, could be anywhere from a few minutes to hours. You got so worried over me so easily, though. I guess that's what I needed in a friend at the time.

You dropped to my side, and I realized I was slumped on the floor. I quickly tried to push myself up, suddenly ashamed that you'd seen me like this, guilty I'd caused you to worry.  


“I'm okay, it's okay Patrick, I'm fine,” I insisted, making a valiant effort to prove it by pushing myself up into a sitting position, which took considerably more effort than it should have.

You wouldn't allow it. You let me fall into your arms, and I was too tired to protest. That, and you were warm. Felt like home.

Reality faded and faltered like a hazy tv signal for a while after that. I remember you speaking quickly, but it wasn't directed at me, it was into a phone and the words all blended into each other.

I just wanted everything to be quiet, but I could hear my own breathing so loud it was giving me a headache. My eyes were screwed shut in an attempt to block out the light.  


I felt your forehead bump softly against mine, and hands on either side of my face. “You’ll be okay,” you whispered to me. “You'll be alright. We'll both be alright.” You were saying this to calm yourself more than me, I think. I was too out of it to really pick up on your words.

I opened my eyes. Everything was blurry, but even so, I could tell the expression on your face. Your eyes were full of tears and you looked scared, but when my gaze met yours you forced a smile that just turned into another sob. I felt so awful for doing this to you. You bent down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, and my eyes fell shut again.  


I came to slightly when our manager and some paramedics showed up. Turned out I hadn't even swallowed enough to warrant me a trip to the hospital, which I recall being vaguely funny to me in a morbid way.

Even though I likely would have pulled through had you found me there on the floor or not, you did save me that night. Whether it was through guilt that I'd done this to you or a promise that I mattered, some kind of hope was reignited in me, some kind of reason to keep going, small, but there.

You saved me in countless ways after that. Plenty of times while traveling, you'd soothe my nerves. Sometimes it got so bad I could even take my own shoes off at airport security, and you'd calmly do it for me without starting even a vague semblance of a scene. You'd grip my hand during flight while my mind spun with horrible ways we could all die in a plane crash, grounding me while I was 36,000 feet off the ground. And sometimes, it'd be just the small but infectious smiles you'd shoot at me that'd give me enough motivation to get through another day.

Alas. That night in LA I think is the first time you truly saved me. The night I found my angel in the city that was supposedly home to them. Since then, you never really stopped saving me.

I hope you never will.


	8. The Last Time You'll Save Me (Just Coast, Coast With Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one took a while. sorry bout that. wasn't in the best place to write it for a while. here it is, thank you so much for reading!!

The only sensation the seeps into my consciousness is warmth. Everything is dark, quiet, and still, but warm. I thought when you were dead you were supposed to be cold.

When I open my eyes, I expect to see blinding white light, or maybe just darkness. What I don’t expect to see when I finally work up the courage to do so is your face. My first thought is that maybe you were my guardian angel all along. But, no, you’re crying, sobbing my name over and over again, and though my vision is hazy, I feel awake. I’d always imagine the ascent to the afterlife to be, maybe, soft and dream-like, but this is real, and it’s sharply defined, and you’re still crying and I remember and I realize why and--

The fear kicks in then. The most primal fear, one engrained in the subconscious as a result of millions upon millions of years of battles for life, the fear that had somehow been stunted for some time in my mind, it all comes crashing in now, my instincts screaming like a million tiny voices in my head to _survive._ Pure, animalistic terror jumpstarts me back to my senses and I jolt violently, letting out a sound that’s somewhere between a cry and a desperate gasp for air.

And then there’s the sensation of your warm, soft hands on either side of my face (they’re shaking) and your voice (also shaking), your lips trembling to tell me soothing things. I can’t focus on your words very much, complete silence has been replaced with a shrill ringing, but I watch your mouth, intently, take in every detail like it’s the last thing anchoring me to this world, and, once I’m done with them, shift my gaze up to your eyes to examine them just as closely.

“Pete? Pete!” It’s the repetition of my name, you must have said it a million times, that finally alerts me to the fact that you’re trying to get through to me. I don’t even know what plane of reality I’m on now. I know you’re trying to pull me down to yours, and I’m fighting to stay with you, but I could be half dead with one foot in a whole other dimension right now.

“Please, say something, please, c’mon, anything,” you’re begging me. And then the guilt. First it was the fear, and now a crushing wave of guilt washes over me for doing this to you, not even for the first time even. No. It was even worse this time--all the others, I just wanted the noise to stop. I never did anything with the intent of dying, but this time had been different. I want to tell you how sorry I am, but I’m not sure I can, there’s nothing that will right the wrongs I’ve done to you, no repentance for this crime. It’s my fault your eyes are red and drowning in tears, my fault you’re shaking like an earthquake and the threat of falling apart, my fault--

“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I’m sorry, Patrick, Patrick, Patrick,” I’m chanting your name like a prayer, I have to pull through now, for you, you’ve always made me feel so safe before, I'm begging for you to do it again. 

“I’m here,” you whisper, and I close my eyes, letting you envelope me in warmth and gentle touches. My heart is still racing with utter terror, but somehow I’m not entirely submerged in it, my head is above the surface and I can breath for now. Slowly, I feel something condense into my reality, soft and gentle against my lips, and there’s hardly the time to realize it was your own until they’ve moved up to press a gentle kiss to my forehead and I sink into the feeling.

“Love you,” you tell me, and as good as those words feel, they scare me. I don’t want tht to be a goodbye. My eyes snap open and I look up at you, terrified.

“Am I going to die?” It’s a very real possibility. I don’t see why you would know, but I don’t see why you wouldn’t know, either. You still seem like some ethereal figure, something caught between the earth and the farthest reaches of the farthest galaxy, condensed stardust and moonbeams from a million different moons glowing from beneath your skin.  


You open your mouth and I can read the “I don’t know” that dances on your lips, can see you flirting with the possibility of saying it in a gentle waltz, but you must already be aware that I know just as well as you that neither of us can be entirely sure I’ll make it through. “No,” you settle on. “You won’t. You can’t. Not today.” You’re saying it to soothe yourself as much as you are me.

“Promise me,” I whisper, eyes drifting shut again. I know you can’t, not entirely honestly, but in these few moments, honesty isn’t what I want, if a few minutes really is all I have left, I’d much rather spend it calm that fearing the inevitable.

Without hesitation, “I promise.” I mouth a silent ‘thank you’ in reply.

“You have to promise me something though, okay?” you ask, and I notice the shaking in your voice, although not entirely gone, has calmed itself.

“Yeah?”

“Never do this again.”

I won’t. I’m done hurting myself, because I’m so tethered to you, or you’re so tethered to me, or we’re simply both so tethered to each other that any sort of subsequent pain runs through both of us like a wave. Thing is about waves, I think vaguely, is that they displace the medium for only a second--eventually we’ll both come back to somewhere safe, somewhere familiar, somewhere together, and this violent disturbance will pass. That in itself calms me. “I promise.”

I relax my head in your lap, breath in your scent, and honestly, it feels more like a soft field laid out like a huge green blanket in the summertime than cold hardwood floorboards. Soft, peaceful, be it a clear sunlit sky or an eternity of stars spread out above, or--as I picture your eyes--the golden corona, the heartbeat moment of total eclipse suspended in baby blue skies. Like amber, I think. 

I can hear sirens in the distance, they aren’t shrieking, but they aren’t a heavenly choir of any sort either--they’re simply… sirens, and everything is normal, and sounds aren’t muffled and distant, nor are they sharp and piercing. We’re already drifting back home, the wave is subsiding and it’s going to be alright. I’m still fighting to keep my head above the water, but I think I’ll pull through.

“Patrick?” I want to tell you in case I forget, which, admittedly, I doubt I could, since it takes its place in the captain’s chair in the helm of my thoughts right now. 

“Mhmm?”

“Love you too.” It’s been a long time since I said that, and god, does it feel good. What feels even better is the smile that I can tell is on your face before even opening my eyes, a small one, but one full of so much affection that for once doesn’t feel misplaced when it’s directed at me, and I smile back, and it’s like, just like that, we’ve chased off everything that was haunting us. When I tell you I love you, it’s not a goodbye, it’s a promise of many more ‘I love you’s to come. The last time is an eternity away.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is very much appreciated ~ ♡


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